


1

by Atherys



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, I Don't Even Know, Kink Meme, M/M, Protectiveness, Rescue, This Is STUPID, WE CLIMBED THIS WHOLE MOUNTAIN, but - Freeform, even if it's not very kinky, i'm sorry i'll stop now, is also an actual tag omg, not turning automatically lovey-dovey just because one of them needs some help, please tell me how to title things i'm begging you, see i can't do it so i'll just number them in the order i write them, sighs, wow that's an actual tag WELL DONE AO3 USERS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:27:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atherys/pseuds/Atherys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There’s a certain exhilaration in pure, uninhibited hate that you haven’t found anywhere else. It pulls you in, drags you under, kills you and resurrects you, all at once. It’s the feeling of wanting to punch someone’s face in, wanting to put your hands around their throat until they’re gasping for air, wanting to see their blood run between your fingers and wanting to fuck them into the ground until they’re begging for mercy. It’s about wanting to beat them, wanting to be better, wanting to prevail, against all odds, and then start everything all over again. It’s about having a worthy opponent.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They are trying to take his kismesis away, and he won't stand for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a kink meme prompt. No particular warnings on this one.
> 
> Original prompt(and fill); http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/38154.html?thread=39252490#cmt39252490
> 
> I can't come up with titles so unless I get a suggestion or something I'm just going to number them. Um. Yeah.

There’s a certain exhilaration in pure, uninhibited hate that you haven’t found anywhere else. It pulls you in, drags you under, kills you and resurrects you, all at once. It’s the feeling of wanting to punch someone’s face in, wanting to put your hands around their throat until they’re gasping for air, wanting to see their blood run between your fingers and wanting to fuck them into the ground until they’re begging for mercy. It’s about wanting to  _beat_  them, wanting to be  _better,_  wanting to prevail, against all odds, and then start everything all over again. It’s about having a _worthy opponent._

 

You haven’t found that in anyone but him, and you’ll be damned if you let them take it away from you.

 

“Step the fuck back and no one gets hurt,” you bite out, rage singing beneath your skin and whispering in your mind.  _Not another step closer, because they’re not taking him. They don’t get to have him._

 

The rustbloods falter and stop, but the one you suppose is their leader, a young adult with a sign in bright teal plastered on her chest steps forward.

 

“This isn’t your decision to make,  _wriggler_ ,” she says in a tone that’s probably meant to be condescending and patronizing, but you can tell when someone is bluffing and she definitely is. “He’s got high psychic potential. The Empire requires his assistance as a helmsman. Now step away and _get lost._ ”

 

A shudder goes through the body behind you and you risk a glance backwards. You don’t know how long they’d been there when you came, but he’d fought bravely. Not really a surprise.  _You know him_. He’d  _never_  give in to them, not while there still are things to fight for, and while you may still doubt the rumours of revolution, you know better than to doubt in him.

 

If they hadn’t somehow repressed his psionics, you admit to yourself in the sanctuary of your own thoughts, he might even have won.

As it is now, this is your battle, and you have the upper hand. Your rank trumps hers, and you can see it in her eyes that she knows it.

“He’s already taken,” you sneer, tightening your grip on your rifle, basking in the feeling of seeing her flinch away. You ought to just kill them all, _that’s_  what you ought to do. It what they’d deserve for messing with your kismesis.

 

It’s a matter of pride, see? Any marks on your kismesis coming from anyone else but you is an insult, a challenge, a dent in your honor. They hurt him. For that, you ought to kill them. Fucking landdwellers, toying with what is  _yours-_

 

But you have grown, and you have changed. You let them leave and make sure they are long gone before you turn back to him. He’s looking at you as if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, expecting you to slice his throat open, stick a knife through his heart or engage him in a strife, now that he is weak and defenseless. You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

 

He’s never really got it.

 

“Fuckin idiot,” you mumble before putting your rifle away in order to pick him up and bring him home. You’ll have to contact his moirail, somehow, to fix him back up. Saving his sorry ass is one thing, playing nursemaid a different one entirely.

 

But as long as you are alive, as long as he still hates you enough to try and fight you, even now when he can barely move, there is  _no fucking way_ they are taking him away from you.

 

He's  _yours._


End file.
